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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628736">oh, the glass could shatter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen'>fromiftowhen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Rookie (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Car Accidents, F/M, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Pining, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:26:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She hisses slightly as the gauze presses against her skin, and he frowns. “You’re fine,” he says, a bit of the bite back. She nods, reaching up to cover his hand with hers. </p><p>OR — missing scenes from 2x17 Control.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Bradford &amp; Lucy Chen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>178</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>oh, the glass could shatter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi friends! It’s 5AM on Monday morning, and this happened. This episode, especially that scene in the shop, deserves many, many more words than this. But for now, here are these. </p><p>This is unbeta’d, and it’s 5AM, so. Title from The Bones by Maren Morris.</p><p>I’m fromiftowhen on Tumblr. Let’s be friends.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Chen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s said her name a thousand times, but the few that have come after crashes or near death experiences or bullet wounds and near misses are the ones that really stick with him. The fact that it’s happening again is just… it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>He watches her come to slowly, glass shards shaking loose from her hair. His head hurts, but he shakes it off. They need to get out of the car. </p><p>“You okay?” He asks, his voice more gentle than he’s been with her all day. </p><p>She’s fuzzy, shaken, and her answer shows it. “Yeah, I think so.” He takes a quick glance over her, double checking, and then puts his weight into his door. The shop is probably a loss, and he spares just a quick moment’s thought to the paperwork that will come out of this. </p><p>He presses safety glass into his palm as he climbs out of the shop, but he’s too busy focusing on the scene. No other vehicles, no other injuries. At least one thing went right. </p><p>He radios Harper and relays their situation as Lucy crosses around the vehicle to him. She’s shaky, and he doesn’t blame her. </p><p>He finally gets a full on look at her as she comes to a stop. </p><p>“You’re bleeding,” he says, gesturing to her forehead. </p><p>She nods, pressing her hand to the wound. It’s not bad, he can tell that much, but it’ll still need to be looked at. </p><p>Her eyes drift over his face, and the muscle memory of too many head wounds and broken noses from childhood on tells him he’s not bleeding, but she reaches her other hand out toward his forehead, brushing her fingers lightly against his skin. If he wasn’t watching, he’s not even sure he’d feel it. </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay?” She asks, her voice a little stronger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel a bruise forming already, but he nods, rocking back on his heels to get some distance. </span>
</p><p>“Stay here,” he says, and she starts to argue, like he knew she would, but he fixes her with a look that usually has about a 50% effective rate with her. It works now, luckily. He crosses to the shop’s trunk, digging for the flares and first aid kit. </p><p>He makes his way back to her, inspecting the damage to his side of the shop. He’d told Harper they’d been ambushed, and it definitely feels that way. He tries to not ever assume he knows what will happen on any case, but he honestly didn’t expect this. </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was no reason to suspect anything,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d told him just a few minutes prior. A different situation, guilt he’d carried — would carry — for quite a while. Hearing her say it wasn’t his fault, a truth he objectively knew, and knowing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> knew it wasn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> her </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault, had lessened a bit of it. </span>
</p><p>She’s bleeding again, in front of him, and he knows this isn’t his fault either, she doesn’t even need to tell him, but. It’s just new guilt to add to his invisible scars, a lengthening list he wishes didn’t have her name at the top of it. </p><p>He digs in the first aid kit, opening a sterile package and pressing gauze to her forehead. He’s not wearing gloves, and he knows he should be, but he knows even in her hazy state, she wouldn’t let him near her if she thought there was any cause for alarm. </p><p>She couldn’t keep him away, regardless. </p><p>She hisses slightly as the gauze presses against her skin, and he frowns. “You’re fine,” he says, a bit of the bite back. She nods, reaching up to cover his hand with hers. He holds her gaze for a moment, her fingers slightly shaky over his as he removes his hand. </p><p>She smiles, a small little thing, not her normal teasing, big grin. </p><p>“Thanks,” she whispers. </p><p>
  <span>He nods. “You’re welcome,” he says, glancing over her shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re welcome </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a new thing for him, especially with her. It doesn’t slip off his tongue easily. </span>
</p><p>The scene is a mess, and so far all he’s done is make sure he hasn’t somehow caused more lasting damage to his rookie. She’ll be in pain soon, unavoidable from the airbags. He can already feel stiffness creeping into his own muscles, the automatic outcome of bracing for impact. She’s watching him as he glances back down at her, and he knows he needs to put her to work. </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. We’ve assessed all immediate injuries. Everyone is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says, eyeing her. “What’s next, Officer Chen?”</span>
</p><p>She blinks at him. </p><p>“Boot, you know this. What’s next?”</p><p>
  <span>She nods, and he watches her expression change. Focused. The natural born test taker who needs to be focused on something to keep calm, who needs to talk through apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of her problems with him. </span>
</p><p>“Flares. Contain and control the scene,” she says, matter of fact. </p><p>He nods, handing her one of the flares and gesturing behind her. “You good? Not too dizzy to bend over?” </p><p>She shakes her head, backing up as he does the same. They set the flares and meet back in front of the shop. </p><p>“Okay. Next?” He asks, already watching her reach for her radio. </p><p>“We need an RA, to check for non-obvious injuries and impairment, even though this wasn’t an officer-caused accident. And a supervisor, and probably a tow,” she says, wincing as she looks at the shop. </p><p>“Good. Do it,” he says, turning to keep an eye on traffic as she radios their requests. </p><p>They’d been through this situation entirely too recently, but he knows she would have known protocol even if they hadn’t, even if he wasn’t here. He listens to her talk to dispatch, her voice calm. </p><p>
  <span>She sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>ready</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as much as he hates to admit that. She’ll be someone’s partner soon, and not his rookie. He hears sirens in the distance, but he focuses on her voice. </span>
</p><p>—————</p><p>Grey and the motor shop and an RA show up, and he stands to the side and talks to Grey as a medic looks him over, shines a light in his eyes and takes his blood pressure and draws blood. It feels too clinical, and unnecessary, but he’s been through it enough now to know it’s required. </p><p>He watches Lucy get looked over a ways away, watches her touch her fingertips to her nose and follow a light, a basic concussion test for the head wound. The medic hands her fresh gauze and she smiles, and Grey asks him a question as Emmett walks up to Lucy. </p><p>He glances away, Grey’s voice echoing back to him. He shakes his head. “Sorry, what was that?”</p><p>“You okay, Officer Bradford?” Grey asks, that tone of voice creeping through that Tim knows means he’s skeptical. </p><p>He nods, thanking the medic as she finishes up. He runs a hand over his face. He’s going to be sore tomorrow. </p><p>“I’m good,” he says, watching Lucy talking to Emmett. He’s pressing fresh gauze to her forehead, and Tim has to hand it to him. It doesn’t get much more knight in shining armor than someone who can save your life and who’s never put you in grave danger. </p><p>Grey follows his line of sight and Tim can almost feel him sigh. </p><p>“Regretting that decision to pass up the North Hollywood position?” He asks, and Tim gets it. If he’d taken the promotion, he’d be somewhere totally different, no scrapes or bruises or pain. </p><p>No rookie to train, or distract, or listen to ramble to literally no one on the phone. </p><p>No Lucy. </p><p>He shakes his head. “No, sir. I finish what I start, no matter how it ends.”</p><p>Grey claps him on the shoulder, respect or admiration or some form of pitying understanding, Tim isn’t sure. </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Bradford. Go get your Boot. I’ll give you guys a ride back to the station, since you seem to have wrecked a </span>
  <em>
    <span>third</span>
  </em>
  <span> shop, somehow.”</span>
</p><p>He’s joking, Tim knows him well enough to know. He just rolls his eyes, carefully out of his line of sight, and moves off to get Lucy. </p><p>He doesn’t get close enough to hear, but he can still see the smile on Lucy’s face, the quiet way she’s looking up at Emmett. It looks familiar. She’s expressive, at all times, usually when he wishes she wasn’t. She’s looked at him that same way before, and he wonders if she’s stopped or he’s just gotten used to it. </p><p>
  <span>“Chen,” he calls, loud enough to carry to her. She’s smiling still as she turns to him, and he waves her to him. She turns back to Emmett, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he watches Lucy type something into her phone quickly before she turns and walks quickly to him. </span>
</p><p>“Sorry,” she says, holding up her phone to him. “Got them digits,” she adds. </p><p>“Huh?” He asks, and when she rolls her eyes, he knows she’s totally fine. The gauze is taped to her forehead now, but she doesn’t look much worse for wear. </p><p>“Emmett. He gave me his number,” she says, slowly, like she’s explaining a complex concept to him. </p><p>“I’m shocked,” he says, glancing back at Emmett as they walk toward Grey’s shop. He’s watching them walk away, and for a moment, Tim feels for the guy. He looks a little too fond, a little too fast, and Tim… Tim’s been there. </p><p>“C’mon. Grey’s taking us back to the station.”</p><p>—————</p><p>Grey lets them leave their paperwork for the next day, and Tim respects him just a little bit more for it. He just wants to shower, crack open a beer, and not think about work or speeding, crashing vehicles, or rookies, for as long as it takes him to fall asleep. </p><p>He changes quickly and gathers his stuff, but stops at the women’s locker room to wait for Lucy, as much as he just wants to get to the parking garage and get home. It’s automatic, stopping, like a roadblock or spike strips that physically won’t let him pass. </p><p>She comes out a few minutes later, hair damp and down around her shoulders, a bruise already forming around the gauze. </p><p>“You didn’t have to wait,” she says, shouldering her bag. “You look exhausted.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thanks, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Boot,” he says, but he can’t explain the way he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to wait, so he doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>“I just meant, it’s been a long day —“ she starts, but he waves her off. </p><p>“I know,” is all he says, and they walk quietly to the parking garage. </p><p>“You going to call the firefighter?” He asks, holding the door for her as they walk out of the building. </p><p>
  <span>“Why is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>the firefighter </span>
  </em>
  <span>now? You’ve known his name longer than I have,” she chides, that same biting tone he’s heard a thousand times, admittedly usually warranted. </span>
</p><p>He doesn’t know how to explain it’s like how he can’t call her Lucy. It feels too close to admitting something he doesn’t quite recognize. He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs, fixing a smirk in place so she just rolls her eyes at him. </p><p>They reach her car, and he thinks for half a second about offering her a ride home. Her car is unreliable at best, and she has a head injury, and it’s late. He could sell it, give her no other option, get her in the cab of his truck and watch her get into her building safely, and then go home and sleep. </p><p>He could do all of those things, and maybe he could even convince himself it was just for her own safety, and not his peace of mind. </p><p>But instead, he watches her unlock her door and lean against it, watching him. </p><p>“Get some rest,” he says, fully prepared to walk the distance to his truck, but she smiles at him and he finds himself taking a step closer. </p><p>She gives him a look, questioning. </p><p>“Look, uh, if you want my real opinion,” he starts, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning further into the space between them. “He’s a good guy. And you know I don’t just say that about anyone.”</p><p>She nods, smirking at him. Apparently it’s pretty common knowledge. </p><p>
  <span>“I think he’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span> bet,” he says, remembering her phone conversation. “And I’m not going to like, pass notes for you guys or whatever the adult equivalent is, but recent traumas notwithstanding, I think I’m a pretty good judge of character,” he says, watching a slow smile replace her smirk. </span>
</p><p>It feels almost worth the awkwardness of the conversation. </p><p>“Thanks, Tim,” she says, her voice quiet even in the echo of the space. </p><p>He nods. “I’m not saying you’re gonna marry the guy. Anything can happen, but that’s kinda the point, right?” </p><p>She smiles, bright in the dark garage. </p><p>“Yeah, anything can happen,” she echoes, and he pulls his keys out of his pocket, jingling them in his hand as they stand in front of her car. </p><p>“My original opinion still stands, though. You can definitely do better,” he says, laughing as she groans and rolls her eyes. </p><p>“Get outta here,” she laughs, pushing her hair off her face and getting into her car. He watches her hand in her hair, listens to the turn of her engine as she closes the door. She leans her head out the window, and he waves his keys at her. </p><p>“Get home safe,” he says, and she nods.</p><p>He turns toward his truck, her lights marking his path. </p><p>—————</p><p>He opens a beer as soon as he’s showered, and Kojo rests his head on Tim’s chest as he tries to get comfortable in bed. </p><p>He thinks about calling Rachel, waking her up, telling her about his day. Distracting himself. Distancing himself from thoughts of work or rookies or crashing vehicles. He doesn’t, though. </p><p>He scratches Kojo behind the ears and thinks about Grey asking if he regrets his choice, about Lucy telling him his guilt was ridiculous. About saying Caleb’s name in the dark of the shop, the tiny flinch she’d tried to hide. </p><p>About the smile on her face as he’d watched her talk to Emmett. </p><p>And about recognizing that smile, that look on her face, and maybe not being surprised by it. </p><p>He thinks about telling her that anything can happen, quiet in the dark of the garage, her voice echoing it back. He’s pretty sure she believed it. </p><p>He’s pretty sure he believes it too, as weird as that feels. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, comments and kudos give me life!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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